Musings on the Past
by The Puce Pimpernel
Summary: Draco makes a deal to get a dig in at Harry, but ends up with much more than he bargains for. As he looks back at how the world he knew ripped apart, he finds something he least expected at the worst possible timing. DMHG Formerly called A Very Differe
1. Chapter 1: The beginning, well, sort of

A/N: Most of this first part was written when I was ill so if it comes out as delirium and does not make sense, please let me know.

Disclaimer: If you think that I'm J.K.Rowling, you have been seriously misled. No, I do not own any characters, etc. in this fic.

Granger and Potter - yes, the _famous_ Harry Potter - had been going out for a little over a year. It was disgusting, really, the way they always fawned over each other. The _perfect_ little couple, the celebrity and the mudblood. Their ambiance of being the quaint, humble lovebirds was quite annoying, especially because I saw them in half of my classes, not to mention meals and out on the grounds. It made me wonder how that Weasley could stand to be around them. But then, he _is _a Weasley-more of a sycophantic hanger-on than a wizard of any merit.

Then the Yule ball came and of course this gave them an extra chance to be especially trying. Always floating - yes floating, not just walking - around and glowing like small children on Christmas morning. Ick.

Sitting in herbology class with _those_ three about two weeks before ball, the day that Crabbe and Goyle were in the infirmary for eating one of the Weasley twin's childish creations, we were repotting some foul plant or other, likely to be harmful in some way, for Professor Sprout. I swear that witch creates these "projects" so she can use us to do her extra work.

Utterly dull.

In the midst of all the excitement I looked across the room to see Granger gushing on and on in a most ridiculous manner to Parvati Patil, another of those goody-goody Griffindors, about the Yule ball. (Someone bring me a bucket, please, I'm going to be sick.) Just on her other side, however, sat Potter, looking quite uncomfortable with the entire situation. Enjoying this small ounce of discomfort, I watched his face grow darker and darker as each moment passed. Wondering to myself what could have caused this delightful storm cloud over Potter, I continued to watch as he hunched over and slid his chair as far away from Granger as possible. Finally something of interest! But then Professor Sprout (called) that it was time to clean up, and I realized that I hadn't finished for the day. Just one more way Potter and his little friends ruin things for me. Distractions. Thoroughly frustrated, I stuffed my tools and gloves into my bag and promptly forgot about the whole episode I had witnessed. That is, until later that night.

The common room was stuffy and I was entirely _over_ homework that night. Thinking to get some fresh, cold air to revive me, and also to avoid hearing any more of Crabbe and Goyle's muffled groans over their current state of being, I went out on the grounds. The snow crunched softly under my boots and it felt genuinely nice to be out. I breathed deeply, feeling the cold air stung my lungs. It felt so clean. Wandering aimlessly, I turned a corner and found Potter and Weasley. But not _Ronald_ Weasley. The younger one, the girl. The Weaslette. They hadn't noticed me yet and I really had no intention of being interrupted and cross-examined by them, exposing myself to whole new levels of their yet uncharted ignorance and stupidity, so I stepped behind a rather large row of bushy shrubs. I stood there for a good five minutes waiting for them to leave (and five minutes is a lot when one is standing silently in the snow in a not-so-very-warm overcoat). They just kept standing there and talking. Impatient as I was, I was about to just come out, walk past them, and hope for the best. But when I stuck my head out from behind the shrubs in one last futile hope that maybe they had just left, he stooped down and kissed her. As if on queue, Granger stepped out from a side door, froze, then burst into tears and ran crying back inside.

Priceless. This was absolutely priceless.

Expecting some sort of reaction from the two still standing there, I was surprised to see that of the two, only the Weaslette seemed at all disturbed by what had happened. But Potter just took her arm and they walked off around the opposite corner of the building. Interesting, to say the least.

There had to be something that could be done with this information. Presumably no one yet knew about it excepting myself and those concerned. _Everyone would know by tomorrow_ I reasoned with myself. _That's the way it is with _him_. Everyone notices every little new thing in his life._

Deciding that I had better get back to work after all, I returned to the common room. But after another valiant attempt at the work piled before me, I surrendered and went to bed, though not before Pansy Parkinson gave me oh-so-subtle hints about the Yule ball and the fact that no one had asked her yet. Gee, what a shocker.

Nothing against her looks, I suppose, though truth be told she is definitely not the archetype of attractive human females. It is just that one would suppose that Slytherins have a sort of grace or refinement. Dignity. Something. Anything. But not her. Au contraire. She is almost as repulsive as Granger in this respect, always gossiping and gushing. Makes herself seem quite the prat. For some inexplicable reason, she has gotten the idea into her head that I enjoy listening to her stories. Constantly talking. Every day. Every meal. On and on, endless, pointless, and inane. Some days it makes me want to scream and holler and throw things, but I refrain. After all, she might be useful for something later. She _does_ follow any instructions I give her. Errands and the like.

A/N: This originally went on, but it was entirely too long and had stuff that wasn't supposed to be up yet. Sorry!


	2. Chapter 2: An interesting proposition

A/N: Hey, this _was_ part of Chapter 1, but it turned out massively long and it needed to be broken up even though they go together. Also, my computer decided to take the initiative to upload some of the new, unfinished, unproof-read, and un-betaed chapter. It kind of ended mid-thought, so that will be reposted completely later. Thanks!

When in the morning I awoke, I rose and dressed. Strolling to breakfast at a quick pace to keep off the cold, I managed to be one of the first people there. Looking around, there were maybe thirty odd people sitting at the various house tables. Only five or so Slytherins were up, two first years, a second year girl, and a couple older ones, sixth or seventh years, not really sure. Sitting down to some toast and eggs a ways off from the others, I glanced up at the Gryffindor table, and there sat Granger with puffy red eyes and a rather swollen-looking nose. She was more of a wreck than usual and looked as if she hadn't slept all night. Reveling in the sight, I sat contented with the morning, until I noticed that Potter and the Weaslette were also in attendance. They were thoroughly engrossed with each other, looking at nothing else, feeding each other little bits of food. It was thoroughly repulsive and left me without an appetite.

The next few days were rather overcast, and though I typically enjoy cloudy days, something about the extra-cheeriness of Potter and his new girlfriend ruined it. They have this way of being in the most visible places. Cuddling or some other boyfriend/girlfriend activity, talking in whispers or just sitting there. It's days like that that I wish all over again that he had never come to Hogwarts. How annoying. How beyond annoying. There isn't a word for it.

(So, having plenty of time to mull over the new school _sensation_, of course frustrated me even more. ) It was all anyone could talk about. That and how dreadful Grander looked. A small ray of happiness for me. But really it paled in comparison to the frustration. Something had to be done. Anything to wipe that sickeningly sweet smile off of Potter's face. But what? I could think of nothing until one day when I bumped into Granger in the hall.

Of course she had been bawling her fate out with Moaning Myrtle or something like that, but whatever it was she had been doing, she still looked quite the mess. Then it hit me. A plan that could utterly destroy Potter's oh-so-self-assured pride.

"Granger." I called, as she was walking away determinedly after brushing past me with her own silly head held high as if it was going to (make me not notice) her current state.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" she snapped and turned on her heel to face me. It seemed as if she was just waiting for anything to set her off - and I was it. Hoping to head her off before she started screaming or having fits, I raised my hands in a gesture of peace.

"I have a proposition for you, that is all. If you do not wish to hear it, fine." I was seriously trusting that her brown-nosing ways would not be entirely overcome by her off-the-scale emotions. They weren't. Well, not entirely anyway.

"If you just want to get a dig in at me, you can just go away and leave me alone!" She seemed as if she was about to explode with tears again. _So_ melodramatic. Though being with Potter for so long must've (made her get used to having drama everywhere she went.)

"No, no, quite the contrary. I wish to offer you a…solution, if you will." Silence greeted this remark as she looked at me with distrust.

"What do you mean?" she asked, obviously confused.

"What I mean to say is, I have hit upon a plan which has the likely outcome of causing little Potter great emotional distress. However, it would require _your_ assistance, as unsavory as that prospect is." The thought of having to help _her_, a filthy little mudblood, was entirely and utterly revolting, but the chance of success was doubly enticing. If this worked, it would all be worth it.

"Why would _you_ be interested in helping _me_?" she asked, still very guardedly.

"I'm not. I'm in it for the glorious triumph of bringing Potter's sickening snuggling and cuddling to an end. It is driving me up the wall. It's disgusting."

I knew it was coming. The wistful, '_We used to do that,'_ from Granger, closely followed by an, _'But I still love him, he's sooooo wonderful. I don't want to hurt him.'_ I knew it was coming, and steeled myself for it. This would stop the whole plan, of course, but I had to make an attempt before I could be satisfied with giving up. She stood there looking at the ground and I knew it was coming. But it didn't.

"What sort of plan?" She still looked guarded, but definitely interested. I was shocked. So much for the goody-goody, love-the-world Granger. Now came the hard part, the part I hadn't really expected to be required to explain. Now as I tried to think of how to present the plan, I hoped it didn't sound as stupid when it came out of my mouth as it did in my mind at that very moment.

"Go to the ball with me." I gritted my teeth and waited for the words to sink in. Not for her. For me. I let my words sink in to tell me exactly _what_ it was that I was getting myself into. What _was_ I getting myself into?

She did look very startled and confused. I knew she was thinking something along the lines of _'He's a nut job!'_ on the inside, so before she could voice an objection, I cut in to explain.

"Look, Potter was going to go with _you_, right?" She nodded. "Well, you haven't gotten another…escort, have you?" I _refused_ to say date. This was NOT a date. Ewww. How utterly revolting an idea.

She shook her head again, looking more than a little confused and disgusted. Not that I would expect much more out of her. Entirely predictable, this one.

"Well I'm betting on the fact that he doesn't expect you to come to the ball. You weren't going to, after what happened, were you?" I didn't even want to get into the fact that I had been there when it happened. She nodded. The horror of the prospect of going to the ball with me had evidently struck her dumb.

"Well, I don't think he expects you to, so it follows that if you do, then it would catch him utterly by surprise, correct?" She nodded. Still mute. Just how thick is this girl?

"On top of that, if you go with someone he despises, someone who despises him, then it would confuse him. Distract him. Wound his ego, his pride. It would look as if he meant nothing to you. So, what I'm proposing is this: you go to the ball with me, we pretend to have a fabulous time, the whole point being to ruin Potter's evening. His ego will shrink if he thinks he's lost the adorations of an ex-girlfriend." It really did sound stupid, and I was beginning to have second thoughts. I was starting to hope that maybe I'd get lucky and this would all be a dream and I didn't really just suggest such a stupid idea, thoroughly embarrassing myself. So much for Syltherin pride and dignity.

_Eyes on the prize,_ I told myself. _Think of the end result_.

So we stood there awkwardly for a few moments in complete silence. I was waiting for the '_Not in a million years!'_ that I knew was coming. Hopefully it would end with that and the rest of the school would not hear of this humiliating encounter. But then she said something I didn't expect.

"You're going to have to work on your waltz."

_What!_ Okay, so maybe this girl isn't as predictable as I thought.

"What do you mean, you little mudblood? My waltzing is perfectly fine!" So, maybe I shouldn't have said that, as she just agreed to help in my plan…but really, I couldn't stop the words from pouring out. Here I am helping her get back at Potter, though really for my own reasons, and she has the audacity to insult my pride. In response, she gave me that annoying "wounded animal" look. And then she grew indignant, another trait of hers I loathe.

"Excuse me? If this is going to work, you are going to have to learn not to insult me. I don't think it would be very convincing if we were in the middle of a dance and you started calling me names. And I've seen you in the preparation classes for the ball. Your waltz is terrible," she replied scathingly.

She had a point. This wasn't going to work if I let something like that slip at the ball. Even if she did something utterly ridiculous, like spilling pumpkin juice or stepping all over my feet in a _waltz_. I didn't like the waltz, but that didn't mean I was terrible. However, to appease her fiery wrath, I grudgingly said I'd work on it. However, that didn't seem to be enough for her.

"When? We only have one prep class left before the ball and you're going to ruin it if you can't waltz." Okay, I _can_ waltz, thank you very much! Just not that well…

"I _said_ I'd work on it, okay!" This girl was never going to shut up. She's more like Pansy Parkinson than she cares to know. And speak of the devil…

"_Draco!_"

Dear God, no! Pansy flounced up the corridor - yes, flounced. Pansy Parkinson, flouncing. Not a pretty sight.

"Draco, what are you doing…" she trailed off as she saw Granger standing there with me. Preparing for her worst, I stood there and said nothing.

"What are you doing here, mudblood?" she asked, with eyebrows raised, and then turned like I'm supposed to applaud her insult. I looked at Granger, (trying to let her know not to say anything,) but it was too late.

"I was talking to Mal-…Draco." How startlingly awful, the way she decided to use my first name without consulting me, though I do suppose I can't call her _Granger_ at the ball. Just another of the distasteful repercussions I had not calculated.

"Draaaco," Pansy started in that whiney, childish voice she sometimes uses, "since when do you associate with girls like _her_?" This was turning bad. "She's probably just trying to dig up a last minute date to the baaaall." Crud. Why did she have to bring that up? "Tell her that you're already going with meeee." She pouted and grabbed my sleeve. This was ridiculous. This was also my breaking point in patience.

"I'm not _going_ to the ball with you," I stated bluntly. My nerves had taken as much as they could of her prattling. Now she was going to feel the sting of all of the pent up frustration that had been building up over the past week. And for some reason, I felt I was going to enjoy this. "I've decided to go with Gr-…Miss Granger." I _couldn't_ bring myself to use her first name, not even for this. It just _felt_ disgusting, the thought of saying it.

Delightfully, Pansy looked at me as if I had just scalded her with some hot beverage or had given her some manner of very nasty joke candy from the Weasley's store. Yes, I was enjoying this. I felt better than I had in quite a few days. Though, now it was official. I had to go through with this crackpot scheme. Word would be all over school. _Eyes on the prize_. I'd explain the whole thing to Pansy later. Maybe.

"Well, I never…Draco, I…I…I can't _believe_ you!" she stammered, her voice very shrill. "Wait until I tell your _father_!"

I froze. My father. He couldn't know about this. He would say it wasn't worth it. Well, maybe it wasn't to him, but it was to me. _Eyes on the prize_.

"My _father_ is none of your concern. I have just sent an owl to him myself," I lied. Anything to keep her from sending one herself. It would take more than that, though.

"Well, I eagerly await his response, then!" She turned on her heel and stamped back down the corridor in the direction of the Slytherin common room. I'd have to think of a solution. However, Granger surprised me by supplying one herself.

"You didn't really send him a letter, did you." It wasn't a question; it was a statement. "You don't want him to know. You'll have to have some response from him though. Lend me a sample of his writing and I'll make you one." I looked at her with some misgivings. Lying? Granger, the school's Little Miss Perfect had entirely proven every assumption about herself wrong. She was not the goody-goody she pretended to be. How hypocritical. How stupid. _Eyes on the prize,_ I repeated again to myself. I was doing this for a _reason_.

Not really wanting to give her a sample that said anything of value, I handed her a note he had sent with some book or other that I had forgotten at the beginning of the school year. She looked at it briefly, probably expecting some curse or something to be found in its contents. Obviously assured that it wasn't anything of merit, she tucked it into her bag and said she'd have the letter tomorrow for me.

"And please try to smile, Malfoy. Remember that you are supposed to be having a great time." I noticed the return of the use of my last name and felt a bit more normal. "And also, work on not making a disgusted face when we have to use first names. Otherwise, this might prove most difficult."

Her prim and proper way of talking was grating. How dare she talk to _me_ like that? A pureblood. But then, she is a mudblood. _Eyes on the prize_. Don't think of anything else.

We bid each other goodnight and I, not wanting to return to the common room where Pansy was sure to be waiting, ready to pounce, went for a slow walk outside, following the same path as I had on the night that all of this mess started.

A/N: It's still long, but I couldn't find any other convenient place to hack it apart. My apologies.


	3. Chapter 3: The letter

A/N: Welcome back! Still in my ill delirium, but hopefully this won't turn out too badly. Much love and thanks to Nathonea and SailorZelda for inspiring/encouraging this story. R and R! Some new stuff and revisions are in there.

I arrived back in the common room late. It was after hours, really, but I wasn't seen, so it didn't matter. Blessings abounded as I found that Pansy had already retired for the night and I wouldn't see her until tomorrow's potions class. If I was careful, I might be able to avoid her for as long as half of a day. She would be sure to find me at lunch, but I had to rely on Granger to get me that letter before then. It made me ill to think that I was relying on a mudblood. That term is very, well, odd. I hadn't thought about it before with respect to an actual person. It seemed…different. It had changed somehow. When had I even begun using it? It's so hard to control my tongue, especially when I'm surrounded by such incompetent wizardry.

I got up early again, painful as it was to drag myself out of the warm bed on such a cold morning. (With the early morning was a Pansy-free dining hall.) I did not want her to be there when my morning post arrived - or rather, didn't. When I sat down to eggs and sausage, I glanced over to the Gryffindor table to find Weasley - not the Weaslette, _Ronald_ Weasley - talking to Granger. He seemed to find the entire affair between her and Harry most distressing, but she did not seem very concerned at that particular moment. She seemed to resent the fact that it was _his_ sister who stole precious Potter away from her. All the better, I suppose. I only hoped that Weasley would not bumble the entire plan. He seems to have this annoying habit of butting in exactly where he is not wanted. However, their conversation ended in Weasley getting up resignedly and going over to sit with Potter and the Weaslette, who of course were the oh-so-cheerful, typical in-love couple. Googly-eyes and all.

The sausage suddenly tasted entirely too salty.

Granger caught my eye and then looked pointedly out into the corridor. Wolfing the rest of the eggs and leaving what was left of the sausage, I stood and left the hall. A few minutes later - did I mention how _long_ a few minutes are when it is cold? - Granger emerged from the hall and handed me a letter. The heading on the address looked remarkably similar to my father's. Astoundingly so.

I was about to open it right then when she stopped me.

"I _would_ kind of like to know what you wrote," I said. I could feel my lip curl up in disgust. Really, she seems to bring out the worst in me. No, wait, correction-Potter does.

"If you open it right in front of Pansy, then she won't be as likely to think that it is a forgery. Open it now, and for all she knows, _you_ could have written it." She seemed very dispirited, in spite of the revenge she would have in a few days' time. Well, at least the knowledge that she did not like the prospects of working together any more than I was…nice.

At that point, I noticed how much she fidgets. How distracting. She's almost twitchy. How many character flaws can one person have? It was enough to make me want to just yell out, _Hold still for just TWO SECONDS!_ But of course, I didn't. Proper breeding prevents one from making outrageous mistakes such as that. Unfortunately.

Why is it that Granger, the tool with which I will get to Potter, must possess _every_ single one of my pet peeves! I didn't even notice until we were within close proximity. _Eyes on the prize, eyes on the prize, eyes on the prize!_

I had to content myself with waiting until lunch to open the letter. Of course I waited for Pansy to sit down before I grandly swept it out and flourished it at her. Breaking the seal, I turned my attention to the contents. After reading through the contents, I smugly passed it to Pansy, who sat a ways down the bench on my left.

_Dear Draco,_

_In response to your query as to accompanying young Miss Granger to the ball, I assume you have your own reasons for your choice. Though we are rather surprised and somewhat in confusion, your mother and I wish you an enjoyable evening. However, I do hope you shall select company of a higher class in the next social event at school._

_Sincerely,_

Lucius Malfoy 

While the letter was not really at all what one could expect from my father, were he asked such a degrading question, it was passable in that it looked quite a bit like his writing, style-wise. She also managed to get his signature so close to perfect, I could hardly tell the difference, and Pansy, not at all. She accepted the paper with a smug look on her face, which was quickly displaced by shock and disbelief, followed by something akin to disgust. Yet I could tell she was taken in by it. Excellent.

Well, at least Granger's good for _something_.

Lunch was thoroughly enjoyable as it passed in a quiet murmur emanating from the other tables. No clamorous blathering from Pansy, who had slid her way along down the bench as far away as possible, and now sat decidedly pouting.

The satisfaction of getting out of the predicament of the letter was soon replaced with dread and loathing, as I found an "anonymous" note appear inside my _History of Magic_ textbook, saying that my waltz still needed improvement and that I had better do well at the next day's ball prep class.

I didn't. It was dreadful, but the way McGonagall - old crone that she is - kept criticizing every mistake in front of the whole class, was enough to make some of the students cry. One Gryffindor girl burst into tears and ran from the room. A fourth-year Slytherin went into the corner and moped for the rest of the class after his turn.

When my turn came it started out fine. But the way McGonagall looked as we began to dance in the 1-2-3 pattern around the open floor caught me off-guard. I could just tell she was looking for an excuse to criticize me. And she found it.

After a dozen or so bars, I misstepped, absolutely crushing her minute toes inside her pointy little shoes. Those shoes really do her justice-all angular and sharp. They make her feet look like giant thorns off of a rosebush.

Of course my mistake threw the entire rhythm off for me, as she tried to recover and I simply tried not to do it again. Well, it did happen again. And again. And again. In fact, it happened a total of six times before she finally called a halt and I was able to slink back to my seat. Looking across the room, I notice Granger with her head in her hands. Just great. That was exactly what I needed. A mudblood looking down on me…that word again. It's starting to leave a bitter taste in my mouth. Nasty.

Well anyway, I received another "anonymous" note via textbook telling me to go to the last classroom at the west end of the second floor corridor after dinner. Wearily, I sat down to eat and found some roast pork to relieve my fatigue. This whole Yule ball thing was turning out to be almost too much trouble. _Eyes on the prize_.

I lingered at dinner, not really wanting to go and meet that terror of a girl, but eventually I felt it was time to leave. Especially since Pansy had taken to talking to me again - in an attempt, I suppose, to "win me back" from Granger. Currently she was going on about how long Potter and Granger were together, etc. etc. (Perhaps Granger wasn't _the_ most annoying girl I knew…)

How disgusting! She chews with her mouth open. And she talks at the same time. Or rather, she attempts to talk at the same time. As I observed the mangled piece of pork bouncing and rolling around in her mouth, my stomach churned and suddenly I no longer had an appetite. Absolutely appalling, her etiquette.

I finally couldn't take any more of Pansy and decided that _anything_ – even Granger – would be better than remaining where I was. So, I stood and left, without so much as a word to Pansy. The look of shock and disdain on her face as I steadily walked out of the hall was refreshing. At least _something_ could shut her up.

A/N: I tried not to make this one so long. Anyhow, some things have not reached my beta yet, but hopefully there won't be any qualms, or few at most, when they do. Maybe. Much love for SZ!


	4. Chapter 4: Practice

A/N: Shout out to The Rocket Summer, a most awesome CD, which helps inspire (sorta) me as I write. And The Ace Troubleshooters! Beaucoup d'amour!

I walked up the stairs and turned left down the corridor. Up another flight of stairs, around a few more corners, down the last corridor, and I was there. Taking a calming breath, I prepared myself for another trying bout with Miss Granger. The door was slightly ajar, and made no noise as I slowly pulled on the ornate brass handle. The house elves must've oiled the hinges in the recent past.

Looking in, I saw that Granger was already there and, unfortunately, she had a phonograph. I had been in denial as to the purpose of this little rendezvous, but now there was no way that I could say this wasn't a dance lesson.

Why must there be waltzing at the ball? Now I really didn't want to go in, so I just stood outside the door, silently looking in. Granger was sitting on a table looking out the window at the snow-covered grounds. She actually seemed more calm and tolerable than Pansy. How sad that this girl, who contained so many traits that jump on my nerves, would actually be less trying than a pureblood Slytherin. Odd.

Finally, I decided I had better get it over with. I wearily knocked on the door and she looked up rather quickly. Standing up as I walked in, she was the first to break the silence.

"Evening." Oddly, she didn't go on and on as I'd expected, but rather just showed me the phonograph. "We should practice the waltz."

What, no rub-it-in-your-face-you-stink gambit? I was surprised. I was sure she'd want to take this opportunity to tell me how absolutely horrid I was or how I would crush her feet or something like that. But she didn't.

"So I brought this to help." She turned the phonograph on and placed an old record on it. I was quite confused as to why she would use a muggle machine – or even where she would find one – but I decided the fewer words, the faster this would be over.

The record began to play and we stepped into position. It was creepy, really, having to be that close to a mudblood. Perhaps I shouldn't have used that word quite so much, but I didn't feel particularly inclined to be polite. Being that close, I was able to count her eyelashes, which were longer than I had noticed before. Or her eyebrow hairs, which were greater in number than most people's. Ugh. But that's beside the point. It was quite awkward looking her in the face, and much easier to look past her head at the wall.

But that was the problem. Whenever I looked at the wall, my concentration went out the window, and I kept losing the song, stepping on her feet and completely ruining the steps.

Surprisingly, she bore all of this with quiet patience. Perhaps she wanted it to be over just as quickly as I did, but she let her face remain calm, only flinching when her toes were battered repeatedly. It was all very humiliating. She _was_ quite good at dancing, though I wouldn't ever let her hear it from _me_. However, the fact only made this all the more trying, as I quickly became frustrated by my lack of skill. Finally I had to ask.

"How is it that you already know how to dance?" I muttered, probably sounding quite bitter. But then, I was.

"My father taught me," she said. She seemed bent on saying as little as possible. Not without reason, seeing what kind of person her father was. A _Muggle_. Something I think they call a dentist. Apparently, dentists' job is to poke and prod inside people's mouths and fix their teeth. How absolutely disgusting. It makes me shudder to think of it. But, apparently, dentists can dance. And I can't. The thought left a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. A _muggle_ better than _me_ at something. Especially something so trivial as dancing. Something most people find easy.

I had lost track of the beat again and stepped forward-left instead of back left, or rather, I attempted to, before my foot caught on Grangers' toes again. Apparently, that was the breaking point in how much her feet could take.

"That's it! Take off your shoes." She broke away, turned off the phonograph, and sat on the edge of the dais up by the podium. Slipping off one of her shoes, she rubbed her foot. Oh, gross. We still had to dance and I had to touch her germy feet-hands. Thoroughly disgusted, I sat on the edge of a table and slowly unlaced my shoes and slid out of them.

I was surprised when she put her shoes back on and I was left standing there in socks. She turned the phonograph back on and stepped up to the center of the cleared space where we'd been dancing. Or attempting to.

"What about my shoes?" I asked.

"You don't get to wear them. My toes can't take your massive boots anymore." She looked frustrated. Of course, that made _me_ even angrier with myself. And her. Her too.

"But what about _your_ shoes?" I asked, trying not to show my anger. I'm not sure I quite pulled it off.

"I need them to protect my already-battered feet. This way, you can hurt your _own_ feet when you mess up. Just so you can feel what it's like." She smirked irritatingly.

Starting to dance again, it wasn't long before I was experiencing pain. Countless times I stepped right into or even _under_ her shoes – which were harder than they looked, by the way.

After probably another half an hour, it was getting ridiculous. I decided her shoes must be steel-toed, but were under a charm to look normal. I probably had six or seven ingrown toenails from the repeated bashings they had received. Blood? Maybe. I was afraid to take off my socks to see the full state of my feet. But I was determined not to say anything. I would _not_ wimp out. I could take pain.

Finally, however, she called a halt. Breathing a very heavy sigh of relief, I shuffled carefully over to a desk and sat. _Ow_. There wasn't much to be said for my feet, other than that. Gritting my teeth, I bent down and peeled off my socks.

_Geez_, that hurt.

Letting the cool air sooth my aching toes – which were, in fact, bleeding a little from my left big toenail – I looked out the window at the darkened landscape. Shadowy silhouettes greeted my eyes. Shadows always look so relaxing. I let the darkness wash over me as I closed my eyes.

Then, of course, Granger broke into my reverie.

"This isn't working."

_No, really? I hadn't noticed!_ I kept my mouth shut, but my mind responded scathingly. But then, I held my tongue often. Even with Potter, I never said as much as I was thinking when he provoked me.

"Obviously," was all that came out.

She looked at my feet warily. _What, like they're going to attack you?_ I was feeling a bit resentful at that moment. Her and her big clunky-chunky steel-toed shoes.

Pulling out her wand, she crouched down.

"Hold it. What do you think you're doing?" I asked, pulling out my own wand.

"I'm just going to stop the bleeding, geez," she looked up at me with mistrust, obviously noting my wand.

"I don't need your help!" Okay, so maybe I could've _used_ her help, but I didn't _need_ it. I wasn't so far gone as to accept help from _her_. A muggleborn.

"Fine!" she snapped, standing up very straight, very quickly. She was short. Only about as tall as me when I was sitting on the desk. I stood up and looked down at her imperiously. She maintained her glowering, though she now had to crane her neck up to look me in the face.

It was ridiculously like a duel or something. A duel of the minds, maybe. Or wits. But then, we weren't trying to be funny.

Finally she turned away and went over to the phonograph and started to pack it up. _It's finally over_.

"Since you don't need _my_ help for_ that_, you certainly don't need my help for _this_," she said, turning to glare as she slid the record into its sleeve and yanked a box out form behind the podium.

_Crud._

The room was filled with her bashing, crashing, and booming, as she proceeded to _carefully_ put away her phonograph - consisting of her slamming the box on the desk, flipping the clasp open, and practically ripping the lid off. Then she picked up the phonograph and dropped it, accompanied by a resounding clunking noise, in the box. Slamming the lid and flipping the clasp back shut, she picked it up by a worn-looking handle, grabbed the records, and stormed from the room.

…

Silence echoed around the chamber while, from outside, I could hear her stumping down the corridor, hefting the obviously heavy box.

…

So I sat there, watching the ornately carved door that was left swinging slowly back toward the room.

_What now?_ I figured I had just ruined the whole plan. Maybe that was good. Or not. I felt really angry, but I didn't really know why. I was angry with _her_ for presuming to think that she could help _me_, a wizard high above _her_ social class. But I was also angry with myself. I just _had_ to lose it and yell at her, didn't I? Now the plan wouldn't work and Pansy Parkinson would glory in my failure, gloating over it for weeks to come.

I couldn't take the oppressive silence in the room and, slipping my socks and shoes gently back on, stood up and walked quickly from the room. Actually, I went at more of a jog. Well, anyways, I turned away from the way in which I knew _she_ had gone and looped around the long way to the Slytherin common room. Only pausing to give the Bloody Baron a passing greeting, I leapt up the steps to the fourth-year boys room and, throwing open the door, ignored the salutations of the others in the room and grabbed my broom.

I mumbled something to them as I turned and left, but I don't remember what it was. I doubt they caught it either, so it doesn't matter. I felt sick as I hurtled down the corridor and stairs. After a couple more flights of stairs and lengths of hallway, I reached the entryway to the castle. Passing the Great Hall, I opened the giant doors with a loud creak, slipped out and started to run.

Mid-stride, I leapt onto the broom and took off in a two-feet-off-the-ground flight. The rush was incredible, as always. And in an instant, as always, all of my problems were five million miles away.

A/N: So yah, hope you like! Sorry if it takes a while to post the next chap, school's a pain. However, I've discovered that I love to write, so I will try to work it in whenever I can. R&R!


	5. Chapter 5: Charms

A/N: Holy cow, school sucks up my life! Sorry this chapter took so long. R&R!

So, after cooling my head, I went back to the common room. I was late, but the only person who saw me was Marcus Flint, and he couldn't have cared less. I hadn't seen him much due to Quidditch being cancelled this year for that stupid Triwizard Tournament. Just another popularity scam for Potter.

He really makes me ill.

I sat in a daze in front of the fire, since most of the nice, squishy armchairs were open. Almost everyone had gone to bed. A few second or third year girls sat in the corner murmuring over homework. It sounded like they were in Divination. What an utter waste of time.

Considering my options, it seemed like I had to find a way to apologize. It was either that or face all-out gloating from Pansy for the rest of my life. Both choices equally unappealing, equally distasteful. Either one would bring a severe blow to my pride, and my pride was something I was quite fond of.

If I _did_ apologize, would it even work? She had her own stupid, stubborn, muggle-pride. It didn't seem likely that she would be very open to giving the plan another shot.

Maybe I had been…unreasonable? No, not really. I didn't want or need her help, so why on Earth did she think I would accept it? In any case, now _I_ had to swallow my pride for _her_ annoyingly sensitive _feelings_. Females.

What did girls like, anyway? Everyone seemed to think that girls like chocolate and flowers or something, but I was certainly not going to get her something that obvious. People would assume things.

Something small in size, unnoticeable by others…

A charm? _She likes charms, right?_

This was stupid. Why even bother, when she was probably just going to refuse to go to the ball anyway?

But I supposed it was worth a shot, just in case there was a chance that the plan could be salvaged. _Eyes on the prize_.

What charm to use, then?

A charmed note…maybe like a paper folding charm or something? Yes, that would work. But she was good at charms; she wouldn't be impressed unless it was intricate and complicated. A multi-layered paper charm? That might work, but it would be quite difficult. Though that would make it more likely to please her.

Intricate and delicate. That would be the key. I pulled a piece of parchment paper from my bag and stared at its blank surface.

…

Nothing. I couldn't think of anything to make. I continued sitting and staring for a few more minutes before I decided that it wasn't getting me anywhere.

Looking around the room, my eyes lit upon a painting of a large, black, fierce-looking dragon, mid-flight. I had always liked that picture. I sat and looked at it for a while, just like the paper, when it dawned on me that _that_ could be the charm. A dragon.

But it would be _so_ difficult. First, I'd have to fold the paper carefully so that the edges were all even, then I'd have to figure out the correct movements of my wand. After that, all I could do was hope it wouldn't explode or something.

I checked my textbook, and it mentioned a similar technique, but it wasn't exactly the same, so I'd have to improvise. Great. Why was I doing this again?

_Eyes on the prize_. _This is to get back at Potter._

Taking a deep breath, I started with a paper containing notes I no longer needed. One fold, two, three and four. Ready. I glanced again at the diagram in the textbook, which I had propped open against my bag on the table.

_Here goes_.

Twist, swish, jab. Turn, flick and tap lightly. _No! Too hard!_ The paper crumpled up into a small ball. _Shoot_.

Starting over…

On my next attempt, I jabbed - or something - rather than flicked, and shot a small jet of flame onto the paper. _Gah!_ I frantically tried to smother the flames that were creeping along the paper at an alarming rate. I succeeded, but not before singeing my left sleeve. But that could be quickly remedied. Later.

That sort of thing went on for a while until I finally got the first movements down. Now to try the animation charm. Another look at the book.

_Animatus_. Simple enough, right? Not so much. This part took longer than the paper folding. It was infuriating. It looked so simple, but it _wasn't_!

I must've spent an hour and a half, paper folding and animating charms together, before I got a dragon that could glide along and land properly.

Pushing back my chair, I heaved a sigh and rubbed my eyes. They were starting to itch and my neck ached from hunching over the table. Now for the other half. Hopefully it wouldn't take as long as the dragon.

The girls from the corner had already gone up to their dormitories, and I sat alone in the large common room. It was odd how large the chamber seemed without anyone in it. The flames from the fireplace were starting to die down, but I didn't want to add another log. I took a moment for myself and watched the dancing shadows making patterns on the illuminated carpet. It was hypnotizing, really.

Breaking out of my reverie, I turned back to the table and dug through my bag. My fingers felt along the bottom of the liner, all gritty with dirt and random junk. After a few moments, I found what I was looking for – a small gift box.

It had contained a chocolate at one point, but I had given it to Crabbe the other day. It had had coconut in it. I hate coconut. So the empty box had been rattling around inside my bag, but it still looked to be in good shape. It was green with silver-leaf inlays and could fit in the palm of my hand. Untying the silver ribbon, I opened it to make sure there weren't chocolate smears or crumbs or anything inside. But everything seemed fine, so I started to work on the charm.

After what seemed like hours – but was probably really only forty-five minutes – I finally finished and, stumbling up the steps to the dormitory, crashed into my large, four-poster bed. Funny, I usually thought it was rather drab, but that night it seemed the most wonderful bed in the entire world. I fell asleep almost immediately.

A/N: So, recap: School sucks up my life and calculus burns my soul. But I finally have time to write! A weekend without homework? gasp Amazing! Well, anyhoo, I promise to try to get the next chap up soon (maybe this weekend while I have the time). Current favorite music: Crashings by Falling Up.


	6. Chapter 6: Her Reaction

A/N: Back already! I love this weekend. So yah, hope you enjoy. R&R.

It was _way_ too early. I swear the sun couldn't have been up. But everyone was moving and there was Goyle, gently prodding my shoulder, telling me that I had better hurry if I wanted breakfast. Being prodded awake is extremely unpleasant, not to mention stinking annoying if the person continues to prod after you have told him quite distinctly to _go away_.

I finally sat up groggily and found that I had just flopped onto the bed the previous night and had not changed into pajamas or actually gotten _in_ bed. Just _on_. I hadn't brushed my teeth either, which accounted for the disgusting feeling all over the inside of my mouth. _Gross_.

My head felt fuzzy. Not outside, but inside. Like there was a buzzing or something right in the middle of my brain. Closing my eyes felt strange and gritty. I needed to shower. What I really wanted to do was go back to sleep, but I knew I needed to get up. I had to go deliver the charm. For the plan. To make Potter's life miserable.

_Argh_.

But I _swear_ it felt like the middle of the night, even with the morning sunlight streaming in from the east window. I decided that sunshine was entirely abominable, and should be against The Rules.

First, I brushed my teeth, and then I changed. Everyone had already filed out the door and gone to breakfast. After making sure I was presentable – I couldn't really expect more at that point – I grabbed the charms from the table next to my bed, and exited stage left.

At the thought of this all being some ridiculous scene in a twisted theatre, I started to giggle. Yes, _giggle_. Suddenly, everything in the whole world was funny. Geez, I was tired. It was ridiculous, how tired I was. But then, a lot of things seemed ridiculous lately.

Trotting down the hall, I silently hoped that Granger would still be at breakfast. It didn't seem likely, as she was usually there early, like me. Maybe she was up late too. _Doing what?_ She wouldn't be there, I knew it.

But she was. Sitting quietly apart from the rest of the people scarfing down some last-minute bacon and eggs.

The smell of hot food was heavenly. Steam still rose from a few dishes along the tables.

I slid onto the bench about midway down and looked over to where she sat. She wasn't digging into any of the delicious-looking food around her, but sat slowly stirring a bowl of porridge. Her hair was messy today and she looked tired.

_Now or never, I guess_.

I pulled the dragon out and set in on the table, screening it with some food dishes in case she looked up my way. Activating the animation charm, I placed the box in its small claws and waited for some late owls to come in with post for their owners. In the flurry of activity, I let it go.

She didn't notice at first, the dark little creature gliding majestically towards her. I sat back and admired my work. It was quite good. Everything was just right. A charm to impress anyone.

She finally did notice, as it touched down right in front of her and upset the serving spoon in a dish of eggs. The spoonful of eggs went clattering to the table and she started as it slid the small box in front of her bowl. For a moment, she sat there staring down at it with wonder. _That's right, admire it. It is pretty amazing, if I do say so myself. And I do._

She slowly reached down and drew the ribbon off of the box. Opening the lid, she slid back on her seat as a tendril of smoke slipped out. She glanced warily between it and the dragon, which had decided to ramble about on the table in front of her. After seemingly deciding that the smoke was not dangerous, she watched intently as it began to twist and turn to form words. It had been so hard to learn how to get it to do that, but it was working.

Her eyes were wide as she read the short message. I couldn't read it from where I was, but I already knew what it said – _Please accept my deepest apologies_. I hadn't thought of anything else to say, since I was already stretching the truth with the "deepest" part.

As the smoke dissipated, she sat still staring at where it had been. Then she looked down the table, straight at Potter.

_What! Like Potter could do _anything_ like that charm! How could she think it was _him I was infuriated, but after a moment, managed to force my face into a calm mask.

She turned back to the box and dragon, which was now curled up inside the now-empty serving spoon. She shook her head, and seemed confused. _You can't seriously think it was Potter, can you?_ Apparently not, for then she looked up and along my table until she caught my eye.

When she realized that it was truly from me, she looked shocked. After a few moments of sitting there with her head slightly tilted and her mouth hanging slightly opened, she recovered herself and took another look at the dragon and the box. When she finally looked up again, she looked as if she were trying to figure out what was going on, eyes narrowed with misgivings. Waiting to discover what her final reaction might be was agony: patience is not my strong point. _Just decide! Yes or No!_ _How hard is that?_

After what seemed an interminable amount of time, she silently nodded her head and, carefully scooping the dragon and the box off of the table, stood and left the hall.

I had succeeded! Triumph! I felt giddy, but I think it was caused by the exhaustion. I decided that I would definitely sleep through History of Magic today, if I could.

It turned out that I could, and did. Because I went straight to the classroom from the hall, while everyone else was milling about aimlessly, I had the choice of any seat I wanted. I chose the one in the back left corner, farthest away from the podium that Bins spoke from. The windows faced west, so there wasn't much sunlight yet, thankfully.

As other students shuffled in and the classroom slowly filled, Professor Bins' view of me was obscured and I was able to put my head down. Peaceful darkness enveloped me, disturbed only by the slow, monotonic drawl of the professor, which was actually quite soothing. What seemed an instant later, I was awakened by a scuffling clattering of chairs as everyone was standing up and filing out. _What? Over already?_

I rubbed my bleary eyes as I shuffled out with no recollection of anything in the lecture, wondering what I was going to do when we were inevitably tested on the subject. I wasn't even sure what the homework was, if we even had any. Doubtless, we did.

Apparently the lack of sleep and groggy feeling had thrown off my depth perception cause I ran smack into a Ravenclaw third-year, spilling her armful of books and dropping my bag. As we each tried to recover our belongings, careful not to switch any items up, I noticed a note sticking out one of my textbooks. Double-checking to make sure it was mine, I gathered it with the rest of my junk, packing it roughly back into my bag. I stood, muttered an apology, and went on my way. I was apologizing all over the place today, wasn't I? It was ridiculous. But then, what wasn't?

After turning a corner and retreating to a niche in the wall, I dug the note out of the mess that was my bag. It was from Granger, saying to meet her in the same place after lunch. Based on her tone, it was as if the whole troublesome matter had never happened. I decided it would be best if I said nothing about it either.

Folding the paper up, I stuffed it into my pocket and went off to Potions filled with much regret. I wouldn't be able to sleep through potions, Snape was like a hawk. Especially with that beak-nose of his. I was able to suppress a giggle before it came out. But then I started to imagine him flapping around with giant wings. Laughter came bubbling up and I couldn't repress it this time. It burst forth, producing what must have been a very strange sound as it left my throat. That, of course, earned me funny looks from passersby. That stopped the laughter.

I entered the potions classroom and sat down, wondering how the rest of this extremely odd day would progress.

A/N: So yah, written all in one night! dance dance I saw _The Importance of Being Earnest_ the other night. Very cute, very funny. Go see it. Now! Anyways, currently listening to Hoobastank.


	7. Chapter 7: Ice Skating?

A/N: Ill again…but with finals coming up! Yay! bleeeeeah

Potions class was torturous. The assignment required complete focus and concentration, both of which were in short supply.

Emerging into sunlight was painful as well, as my eyes seemed to have rebelled. They no longer obeyed my will to keep them open, and began to sink shut even during lunch. I kept jerking awake inches above my cold slices of ham and cheese. Coming out of that floating, falling sensation was interesting as, I almost fell off of the bench. Fun.

I finally put my head down and gave up on trying to eat. At least the last of my classes were over for the Christmas holiday. Granted, the holiday didn't start for a couple days, but the relief was overwhelming. The only homework we had now were projects that could thankfully be put off until after Christmas. Procrastinating wasn't something I usually did, but at the time, it seemed so appealing.

After a short nap – which I am sure left red marks or lines or something on my face – I finally got up and, stuffing some ham into my mouth as a last-minute thought, walked out of the dining hall.

Back up the stairs and through the corridors, it seemed to be taking forever to get to the empty classroom where I was to meet Granger. Everything seemed to be slowing down to match the fuzzy frequency inside my head. Thankfully, that had receded into a very faint buzz.

As I past a lavatory, I decided to stop in to splash some water on my face. Maybe it would wake me up. After doing so, I found that the house elves had not restocked the paper towels and I was left with my sleeve to dry my face. The tough material was a little stiff and scratchy. (I had put on a new set of robes that had just been sent from home.)

Continuing on my way, I found that the water had helped a little, and things seemed to be moving at a normal pace. I arrived after a few more minutes of trudging along corridors and up steps. The door was closed.

_Odd_. I pressed on the latch and pulled, but it remained firmly shut. _Hmm_. I tried to open the lock with a charm, but it didn't work. So there wasn't much I could do but wait.

After maybe ten minutes, she finally showed up.

"Where've you been?" I asked, trying not to sound impatient. I was tired and wanted to go back to bed.

"Sorry," was all she said, offering no excuse. Where _had_ she been? She looked almost as tired as I felt. She was probably up late wigging out over projects and homework or something. Maybe over Potter? How annoying. She continued to cling to him. How annoying! Stupid.

Then I realized that I didn't know if she really clung to him or not. _This is what happens to my mind when I don't get enough sleep. I start imagining things_. Whatever.

I stood there, waiting for her to attempt to open the door, when I noticed that she didn't have the phonograph. My brain was starting to slow down again but it still registered the fact that something wasn't right.

"Follow me," she said primly.

_Huh?_

"Where are you going?" I asked, thoroughly confused.

"You'll see when we get there."

_Great._ Now what was going on? I followed her, not really paying much attention to where we were going. I was too tired to function properly. Before I realized what was going on, she was heading outside by a side door of the castle. _Outside?_

I hesitated. It was _cold_ out there. When she noticed I hadn't come out, Granger poked her head back through the door and told me to hurry up. _Excuse me? She_ obviously felt that she was in charge. Not a chance. This was _my _plan. Mine. And besides…well I couldn't think of anything besides. But there had to be another reason why she wasn't in charge. I was too tired to think.

I begrudgingly submitted and stepped outside. The biting cold immediately stung my ears and cheeks. Trudging through the two-foot-deep snow, I was thankful that I had worn my tall boots. They laced up to just below the knee, very comfy and warm. The edges of my pants and my robes were starting to collect a ring of snow as we went further and further.

Finally we rounded a copse of trees jutting out of the Forbidden Forest, and she stopped. We were awfully close to the forest and I was painfully aware of the cowardice I had shown on my first trip into the trees. Doubtless, Potter had told Granger all about it and they had all had a good laugh at my expense. I glanced up to see if she was waiting for a reaction. I wasn't going to be the butt of another laugh.

She wasn't looking back, just pausing for breath. Then she went down the small slope of the hill and walked down to the edge of a small pond that I had just noticed. It must've been an offshoot of the lake, but I hadn't known of its existence before.

I was surprised when she shuffled out onto the ice. What if it was too thin and she fell through? But apparently she had charmed it to stay solid, or something, because she strode confidently out. Well, strode until she hit a particularly slippery patch and had to slide, arms flailing, to maintain her balance. I suppressed a laugh, but I couldn't help smirking at the ridiculousness of it all.

I made my way down the hill and came to a halt at the edge of the pond just as she came sliding up.

"Come on," she said, turning back and going to the middle of the ice. This was nuts. But I went out anyway. Everything else seemed ridiculous; I could see no reason why I should expect any different.

"What are we doing here?" I finally asked as I slipped and slid across the slick surface. Being able to maintain balance was harder than I expected, and immediately following my question, I promptly slipped and fell flat on my butt.

Ice is _hard_.

"We are here to practice the waltz, of course," she said, after a small laugh.

"How on Earth are we going to do that on a _pond_?" I asked, quite bitter about her ability to stay upright. Struggling to my feet was interesting as well. After a few futile attempts, she came over and offered me a hand. I took it, if not to help myself up, to keep her from getting angry with me again for refusing aid.

"You can't waltz because you don't pay attention," she said. _What?_ "That's why you miss the steps. Out here, you have to pay attention or you'll slip and fall." She looked smug. Irritating.

"What about music?" I asked, looking for any type of loophole to get me off of that ice.

"We'll have to do without. I'm not bringing my phonograph out here," she said, matter-of-factly. She waited for me to step into position, which I did with small difficulty.

As we began to attempt to waltz, it proved more difficult than either of us anticipated. Multiple times I slipped and fell, leaving her trying to recover her balance. However, she fell almost as much. And when she did, she took me down with her.

Her feet would fly out from under her and, instead of letting go as I had done, she clung onto my arms and pulled me down as well. Each time, we landed in a jumbled heap, both trying to stand up and recover what was left of our dignity.

One upside to all of that was that, after numerous attempts, we managed to get the hang of it. I was no longer stepping on her toes because I was constantly concerned about keeping my feet where I could stand on them. When she moved in the right direction, I had to as well, to maintain balance. So her idea worked.

Once we were confident of our feet, we started going faster and continuing on to the rest of the dance. I was improving quite a bit, and was proud of it. _Let's see Potter beat that_.

On our last run of the entire dance, we reached the point where she was supposed to spin out and then around. She reached the fourth beat when she slipped again. Being only connected to one arm this time, she grabbed it with both hands and, after it seemed as if we just might stay upright, I slipped, landing both of us in a heap again.

You'd think this would be frustrating, but apparently it wasn't to her. She just sat there on the ice, giggling. I didn't understand it. We had just _fallen_. Again! What was so funny?

"Let's call it a day," she said, when she had finally picked herself up. _Good_. My knees and butt hurt from falling so much. Like I said, ice is _hard_.

We stumbled and shuffled off the ice and started the hike back to the castle. I knew I'd be amazingly sore the next day, and would probably have massive bruises. I hadn't noticed how dark the sky had gotten. How long had we been out there?

When we reached the door, we paused to stamp off the snow from the edges of our robes and pant-legs. _How does it stick on there like that?_ After we got as much off as we could, I yanked on the door-handle and the door swung creakily inward.

As we stepped inside, the wave of heat hit me. It was like an oven. I had felt fine outside. I hadn't even felt the cold. Why was that? It had never happened that way before. Usually it was relief to get inside, but this time, it was stifling. The coat that I usually wore everywhere except the common room was roasting me, so I took it off. That felt better.

A mirror hung just opposite the door, and I chanced to glance into it, and paused. I looked ill. My cheeks were flushed from the wind. I looked like I had a fever. It was so different from the usual pale face I saw whenever I looked into a mirror. Creepy.

Apparently, we had been out there longer than I had even imagined. The bells were just ringing for dinner. All afternoon. We had been out there all afternoon. How many hours was that? I hadn't even noticed. It hadn't seemed like an extremely long time.

Carrying our coats, scarves, and gloves, we walked along the hallway, our footsteps resounding on the stone floor. It was only then that I realized how hungry I was.

Entering the dining hall, we parted, each to our own table. I sat down and dug ravenously into the slices of meat I sawed off of the roast in front of me. Heaping mashed potatoes onto my plate, I looked up and saw Granger also digging in with a voracious appetite.

Oh, they were garlic potatoes. _I love garlic_.

Satiated after the large meal, I went up to my dormitory and climbed into bed. Lying there, staring up at the canopy of my bed, I relaxed and let sleep wash over me.

A/N: My nose has decided to turn into a fountain and my muscles are rebelling. So, if this stops making any sense it is because I was having delusions in my ill state and my beta quit. But she didn't, so extra love for Miss Cordelia for putting up with my nonsense. Currently listening to Mae, Destination: Beautiful.


	8. Chapter 8: With exploding snow

A/N: So much time for writing when I'm sick! Lovely! Oh, I saw _End of the Spear_ the other night. Very cool and interesting movie. Almost made me cry T.T

Shout outs for the 41 reviews that I've gotten so far (in order of appearance): TheAgonyofBlank (x2), Nathonea (x5), Whitelight72, blondkellycrazy, rizahawkeye21 (x6), SailorZelda, sarcastic-ha ha ha, The Future Mrs. Thomas Andrew Felton (x2), queenofthelamoes (x5), Angie Anaconda, Anakah, OneWhiteTulip (x2), Eternally-BlackRose-Yours (x2), aznchic2009 (x3), Fire Neko 324, Emily Kennedy, hottennispro88, KyootNShort, rainlfallslup, brooklyntiger, and Emi-bum.

Sorry if I missed someone…or something.

So yah, I'll get out of the way now…

_I sat on a cold steel floor. Freezing winds kept tearing at me as I huddled, as tightly as I could, into a ball. My face stung from the tears that were solidifying even as they poured out of my eyes. _

_Everything around me was darkness. Somehow I knew that no matter how far I reached, I would encounter nothing._

_Emptiness surrounded and consumed me._

My eyes opened with that disoriented, groggy feeling, desperately trying to make out the picture they were relaying to my brain. After a moment, they adjusted to the dim light of the room.

It was cold.

Looking about, I found that all of my blankets were spilling over the side of the bed, and I had been lying there without any covers. My feet felt icy, and my muscles were tight from my body's attempt to keep warm.

Dragging the blankets back up onto the bed, I discovered that they had been in the floor for quite some time. The satiny sheets felt chill.

What time is it? 

I put on my heavy overcoat and thick slippers and got up. It felt like time no longer existed – everything was surreal.

I moved out into the common room to sit in an armchair by the fire. The embers were almost out, so I poked and stabbed them back to life and added another log or two. When the blaze finally began to crackle and hiss, I leaned back into the chair.

Sitting within the protective glow of the flames, the world no longer existed. I didn't think of anything, really. Just watched the dancing fire as it weaved in and out of itself, over and over, a hypnotizing pattern. I sat in a daze.

But I didn't feel the heat. I couldn't. I sat there, numb to it. And I didn't know why.

I awoke, startled to find myself in the common room. After a frantic thought or two, I remembered the previous night and the surreal haze that had brought me downstairs.

I was stiff all over from dozing in the armchair – especially in my neck.

Getting up, I went to see if anyone was awake yet. I couldn't figure out what time it was. Everyone was still in bed, but I felt restless. I dressed and went out, grabbing my scarf and gloves on the way.

Making my way along the reverberating passages, I found that it was sometime around dawn. The sun was almost up over the furthest ridge visible from the east gallery's windows.

I quickened my pace to warm my feet inside my large boots. I was still chilly.

Everything was so subdued. Grim and quiet. Shades of gray had overtaken everything I passed. The dim light left everything in those kinds of shadows-that-aren't.

I felt stately as I stepped down the grand staircase alone. The rug muffled the echo of my boots. I crossed the expansive entrance hall and grasped the great iron handle of the massive doors.

I felt so small standing there, hand still holding the ring, poised to heave the doors open. I pulled and, with a creaky groan, the door opened enough so that I could squeeze through if I turned sideways. I slid through, buttons on my jacket scraping the door, and pulled it shut after me.

As I turned around, my eyes were greeted with that awe-inspiring sight of new-fallen snow. So very deceiving. It looks so soft and fluffy, so dry and cottony. But if one is fool enough to jump into a drift of it, they find that it _is_ indeed very wet, very cold, and very hard to get out of one's clothes.

I trudged over and through those drifts, crossing the great white expanse between myself and the lake. I stood on the shore, looking out past the frozen surface to the hills in the distance – always there, but hardly ever noticed. The tiny trees were laden with snow, all their branches bent nearly to the ground under the weight.

I stood there, breathing in the icy-crisp air, enjoying the silence that seemed all-pervasive. Like nothing could break the stillness, save the crunching and creaking of my boots on the snow, or the gentle rustle of the branches nearest me, shedding bits of their heavy loads.

I watched and waited for dawn. The sun, the warmth. But I knew it wouldn't really come. Not in full shine, golden rays casting brilliant shadows on those distant hills. It was overcast today. The same as every winter day. And I liked it that way.

But eventually the sky did lighten, as it always did, and I turned away from those hills and the lake. Breakfast would begin soon, and the solitude and grandeur of the vast grounds would be spoiled by others coming to _play_ in the snow.

Childish.

My mind had finally switched back to reality, remembering the irritation known as _people_. I paused for a moment and, looking back at the lake, wistfully longed for a place where people did not intrude, did not bother, did not overrun.

But there is no place like that.

Following my footholes – they were much larger than footprints because of the depth of the snow – back to the castle, I let myself in through that ridiculous creaky door. Stamping snow off of my boots, I removed my gloves and unwound my scarf from around my neck.

On to breakfast.

Maybe it was because of my interrupted sleep, or maybe it was because of the subdued feeling I had experienced when walking through the corridors that morning, but I just felt very sullen. Heavy. I sat at breakfast and silently looked at the steam rising from the hotcakes stacked on a serving dish in front of my plate.

I didn't feel like eating. So, I didn't.

Still, I sat there all the same, watching other students file in in random ones and twos. At one point Granger wandered in. Other students from my own house came and sat down, partaking of the delicious-smelling food. Everyone else was quiet as well.

I looked across at Granger, who had sat down and begun dishing up a small helping of potato wedges onto her plate. I looked down at my empty dish.

I wasn't feeling quite right, so I got up and left, casting one glance at the towering pines that had been put up and decorated in honor of the season.

Unfortunately, I picked the wrong time to leave. One would think that if one is moving at a normal human pace while exiting through a very large doorway, there would be little to no chance of having anyone plow straight into one's person.

But no. Someone, namely Potter, was out to get me. He was, of course, closely followed by the Weaslette.

So it was just my luck to have that dark-haired, ill-mannered boy smack straight into me, knocking me into the wall. He himself sprawled across the floor as if I had just shoved him in a brawl.

_So over-dramatic_.

Straightening my robes and giving him a look that could peel paint, I attempted to leave without any verbal contact. But of course, that wasn't going to happen. He _had_ to say something to look heroic in front of his clingy little girlfriend.

"Watch where you're going, _Malfoy_," he spat, with that extra little emphasis on my last name.

_Go ahead, hate me_.

I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of even _thinking_ he'd gotten to me, so my only response was a '_tch_' and a patronizing shake of my head.

Apparently this was too much for him. He always seemed ready to pick a fight. Under normal circumstances, I would have been happy to oblige, but for the moment I would bide my time. _Wait for the ball, and then hit him where he doesn't expect it._

"Too good to apologize? Or maybe its 'cause your bodyguards aren't around. No guts without any backup?" he jeered, probably for the benefit of the Weaslette.

"Harry…"she reprimanded quietly.

_What, not impressed with his tough-guy act? That makes two of us._

I gave him a _how pathetic_ look, turned, and walked away. _Self-control_. _I have self-control_.

_I'm calm, and I'm focused. Deep breaths._

Though his looking to pick a fight made him seem quite the prat, it still incensed me. _I_ wasn't even the one who ran into _him_. _He_ ran into _me_. And of course he had to be insulting. As always.

_His _face_ is insulting_.

Grumbling other such petty remarks as I shuffled off, I shoved my hands into the pockets of my robe. In my right pocket was a note. Pulling it out, I found it was from none other than Granger.

_How does she _do_ that!_

Opening it with a little more force than necessary, I accidentally ripped one of the edges. It tore to halfway down the paper, but I was still able to make out the words.

_Same place, same time. Don't go to the room first._

_Hermione_

Great. More waltzing. At least I was getting better.

At the appointed time, I was making my way across the snow.

My toes were cold.

I reached the frozen pond to find Granger leaning against a tree, looking out at the hills I had watched that morning. Creepy.

We shortly went out on the ice, slipping on the slickest areas. And we proceeded to practice for quite a while. I was falling less that day. In fact, I slipped less than her.

My inner self yelled a victorious _haHA!_

We finally took a break after what seemed like hours. It probably hadn't been hours, but there was no clock out there. I don't wear my nice pocket-watch while doing active things. I'd rather not lose it, as it belonged to my father.

She doesn't wear a watch, but she always seems to know what time it is. Another creepy thing about her that I can't figure out.

We shuffled and slid over to the trees at the edge of the pond and stood, occasionally stiffly stretching. She pulled out a thermos from behind the tree she had been previously leaning on. As she screwing off the top, steam rose from its depths and along with it, the wonderful smell of hot cocoa.

Where did she get that? 

I stood off to the side, trying not to look like I was at all interested. The smell drove me mad on the inside, though. She inhaled deeply and pulled out two mugs.

Two? 

"Want some?" she asked, looking up.

I glanced around. _Duh._ Of course I wanted some. But I didn't want to look too eager. So I played it cool.

"Sure…" I mumbled after a moment. _Real smooth, Draco_.

She filled the two mugs nearly to the brims. Passing me one and keeping one for herself, she cleared the snow off of some tree roots and sat down. I did the same, so that my robes and pants wouldn't get soaked.

As soon as I was holding the cup in my bare hands – I had removed my gloves – I was glad I had accepted. The thick, creamy cocoa was warming. The ceramic sides of the mug radiated the heat to my fingers. And when I took a sip I could feel it warming me all the way down.

It had peppermint in it.

We sat in silence, each enjoying the quiet peace, letting the heat spread through us and renewing our strength.

We looked out past the side of the pond over to the other side of the grounds. A few students were out, frolicking in the new snow. I was quite glad I had had my own time in the snow before the others had come and spoiled it.

A few of them were bewitching snowballs, sending them zooming through the air to pelt someone fifty yards away, right on the head. Their antics were funny to watch, so long as I didn't become involved. I did not savor the idea of have snow shoved down my collar, to be followed with more snow in my face.

At length, a couple of people emerged from the castle and trekked across the snowy expanse. Nothing was wrong until I noticed that if I squinted, it appeared to be Potter and the Weaslette.

I glanced over surreptitiously to see if Granger had noticed. She had.

She sat stiffly, with her hands clutching her mug tightly. She probably didn't realize how intently she watched them, frozen in place, ignoring her remaining cocoa.

The two shuffled around for a bit and then started making a snowman. The three pieces weren't quite round, but they managed to stack them with a little work. Then, of course, they had to stand there for another ten minutes putting the stupid face on and adding arms, buttons, and, of all things, hair.

_Who puts hair on a snowman?_

I glanced at Granger again and saw that she was looking resolutely down at her cocoa, intent on watching the brown liquid swirling around inside her mug. Her knuckles were turning white from clenching the cup.

I decided it would be best to wait until they had both left, which thankfully happened in a short time. They moved off somewhere out of view, probably to make snow angels and snog behind some trees. _They're despicable_.

I stood up quickly, looking down at Granger. She was close to tears, but trying not to look as if she was. _They just had to publicize their relationship again, didn't they?_

Still angry with Potter from before, I found that this made it worse. If I didn't do anything, I'd go mad. I had to do something.

Setting down my now-empty mug, I pulled Granger to her feet.

"Come on," I said roughly. She gave me a startled look and set down her mug next to mine. However, when I turned to move toward the area the two lovebirds had just occupied, she just stood there. So I had to go back and drag her with me.

Following me only because I had a firm grip on her wrist, she looked utterly confused. Once we reached the middle of the field, I let go and we stopped.

_Now for some fun_.

I bent down and scooped up some snow, packing it into a small, tight ball. Making a couple of these, I looked up and saw Granger just staring off into the trees. Probably looking to see if _they_ were there somewhere nearby.

Once I had a sizeable stockpile of snowballs, I pulled out my wand. Using the same animation charm as I had used on the dragon, I got the first one in the air.

After watching it hover in place directly at eye-level for a few moments, I shot it off. It landed square in the middle of the snowman's face. I heard Granger gasp – and then start to laugh a little.

_Well, she's reviving_.

Then for the next one. I sent it zooming toward the snowman at a dangerous speed, and it hit the left arm, snapping it clean in two. Granger giggled some more.

The next few landed on the midsection, knocking the buttons loose. At this point Granger joined in, charming her snowballs to fly at even faster speeds. She managed to get the right eye and the nose all in one fell swoop of her wand.

By then even I was starting to enjoy myself. The snowman now looked absurd, one-eyed and one-limbed, nose and buttons missing, and extra clods of snow stuck all over him. We were in stitches as we sent the next few snowballs off, cheering when they took out the remaining arm and half of the mouth.

Soon the face and all other recognizable features had been obliterated. But I wasn't quite satisfied and, to my surprise, neither was Granger.

She took off at a run, looking utterly ridiculous, all bundled up and stomping through the snow. But I followed. _I_ wanted the fun of crushing that large snowy form first. I soon caught up with her, but she dragged me back by pulling on the back of my overcoat. This, of course, I greeted with loud protest as she pushed and shoved her way past me.

Just as she was about to reach her objective, I managed to catch the back of _her_ coat, but tripped. That sent both of us crashing down through the snowman, thoroughly destroying what little remained of the once-hairy thing.

However, I managed to get my revenge, on both her and the snowman. What the snowman had done, I really wasn't sure, but it felt like revenge to smash its little head to bits, chunks of snow flying every which way. _Seriously, who _does_ put hair on a snowman?_

Granger was laughing again, and I felt a sense of accomplishment at the demise of the thing. As I twisted around and sat up, I saw Granger to my left, face-first in snow. She just lay there, cackling, which made the situation seem even more amusing, for some reason.

I thought it was all over, but then an idea popped into my head. _Potter and the Weaslette will be walking back this way…_

Standing up and dusting off as much snow from my coat as I could, I began to pack snow into as large a ball as I could. After Granger finally extricated herself from the snowdrift, she asked what I was doing.

"Help me make a new snowman," I said. I didn't care that she would probably have no idea what I was planning.

She gave me an odd look, but started to help.

Quite a while later – snowmen take a lot longer to make than one would think – the general shape could be seen. It was a snowman, minus any features that would make it definite. Digging out a couple of rocks from beneath the snow, I managed to make a maliciously victorious face, smiling, but with angry eyebrows. Granger supplied the arms – twisted branches from the nearest tree.

And then, the _piece de resistance_, I found the carrot from the decimated snowman nose burrowed under the snow. Placed not on the face but in the "hand" of our new snowman, the carrot was held aloft as a trophy of the snowman's epic battle against the previous snowman. Bits and chunks of his unfortunate opponent remained strewn about him.

After we had had another good laugh over this, we heard the bells ringing for dinner, so, after charming the snowman to resist any attempts to destroy him, we went on our way, back up to the castle.

Halfway there, we heard a shout of alarm from behind us and, turning to look, found that Potter and the Weaslette had just happened upon the remains of their little project. We decided, amid more chuckling, that it would probably be best if we moved a little faster.

Shuffling into the hall, we stomped the last snow off of our shoes and headed into the dining hall. Upon entering, Granger remembered the mugs she had left out, but I assured her that if they were from the kitchens, the house elves would get them.

She gave me a slightly funny look at the mention of house elves, but remained silent, only nodding her head as I finished talking. We parted and each sat down to a delicious meal of roast fowl. Nice and tender.

As I ate and defrosted, I again found the heat of the castle stifling, and was tempted to step back outside into the snow before heading to the common room. From the looks of things, Granger was considering it too, as she fanned her face, which was flushed from the stinging wind outside.

After stuffing myself fit to burst, I tottered out of the hall. I was already regretting eating so much, and I knew I would only feel worse unless I went to bed.

So I did.

I hadn't realized just how tired I was, but another day of falling on the hard, hard ice and running around in the cold had left me even more stiff and sore than the previous night had. I could almost feel my joints settling into place, a drowsy feeling settling on my limbs.

I lay on my back and waited for sleep to come.

It didn't take long.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed. Please give CC and such. Yesterday I bought a puce trenchcoat. Bet you didn't even think they _made_ clothes in that color! Well, anyways, it was three bucks and it matches my shoes. So now I'm just awaiting my beta and time to write the next chapter. And I'm quite excited about the Mae concert on Sunday.

Currently listening to: Nouveaux and Click Five


	9. Chapter 9: Random Thoughts

A/N: Well, looking back at the Chapter 8 file on my computer, I found that it decided to name the different pages. I was like, o.O? but apparently it took the liberty of taking the italics I had written and making those titles for the various pages. Like pages 1-3 were "What time is it?" and page 4 was "Where did she get that?" and pages 5-7 were "Two?" even though that thought was on page 4. I am so confused, but strangely amused.

I went to the Mae concert on Sunday. Most fun! I purchased a t-shirt and when we were looking at all the merchandise, we discovered that Mae is an acronym. It apparently stands for "Multisensory Aesthetic Experience", but we had just never known. And now we do.

Oh, yes, thank you for the warm wishes of good health! I am mostly recovered except for a stupid cough that will last forever, I'm sure. I shall develop the black lung or some other such nonsense.

VERY IMPORTANT NOTE: The title of this story shall soon be changing to "Musings on the Past" sometime following the posting of this chapter, and shall remain thus until I feel like changing it again.

And that's all. On with the chapter!

_I was there again, sitting on that cold steel floor. The freezing winds kept tearing at me as I huddled into a tight ball. Tears still poured from my eyes, stinging my face as they froze, but I was powerless to stop them._

_Darkness was everywhere. All-encompassing, all-pervasive. There was no escape. Reaching out my hand would be pointless, for I wouldn't find anything, no matter how far I stretched._

_An emptiness rose up from the depths of my soul - a hollow feeling inside of me. An ache of real proportions - a physical hurt, a void in my chest._

_I sat there wishing it would end – the freezing winds, the isolation, the aching longing inside of me for some kind of contact, some kind of touch. But I was alone. _

_Completely and utterly alone._

_And then, the wind changed._

_The wind that had tortured me, flayed my skin, attacked me anywhere it could, abated. It had calmed 'til it was no more than a breeze gently moving my hair. At the sudden difference, I looked up._

_There was a dim light, bobbing up and down. I stretched out my hand, but it was too far in the distance, unreachable._

_After sitting, staring at the new light, wondering what it could be, I got up, and began to walk towards it._

_But I never got any closer. And I was too tired from sitting in the cold to go chasing it much longer. Exhausted, I stumbled and fell._

I awoke on the floor. My head throbbed and my back ached from the impact of falling from my bed – which was quite far from the floor. Muttering curses under my breath, I attempted to reclaim the bed in a dignified fashion, but failed. I somehow missed the fact that my feet were entangled in the sheets. Thus, when I tried to stand up, all I managed to do was flop against the mattresses and fall to the floor again with a resounding _thump_.

_I am _so_ glad no one else is awake._

But I looked up and found that there was, in fact, someone awake. Someones.

Crabbe was snoring uproariously, oblivious to all around him. But Goyle and Blaise were both sitting up, watching me with blinking, sleepy eyes.

_This had better be a dream._

Goyle gave a grunt and lay down again, rolling over so as to face the wall. But Blaise was a different story.

"What's with all the yelling?" he asked, groggily.

"What?" I responded, oh-so-intelligently.

"You yelled, and immediately following was a loud crashing sound." He looked like he was going to enjoy lording that over me.

A mumbled _whatever_ seemed to appease him. Either that or he was just too tired to say anything else. In any case, he plopped his well-groomed head onto his pillow and promptly went to sleep.

I envied his ability to do that – fall asleep so quickly, that is. He seemed to be able to sleep on command, for as long as he wanted, and could wake up whenever he chose.

All this time I had been peering at the room over the edge of my mattress. Disentangling myself angrily from my sheets, I crawled up onto my bed, dragging my blankets with me and arranging them in an orderly fashion.

But I couldn't sleep. I lay there, staring at the ceiling, thinking about the dreams.

_This is the second time this has happened._

The light - what was it? And where did it come from?

Pondering these and other unanswerable questions, sleep eventually overtook me, and I was able to rest without interruption until morning. Upon what seemed like the crack of dawn, I again received a most rude awakening by way of poking.

Goyle was there again. I didn't know why – it was the holidays. But apparently he felt the need to jab me out of bed and prod me into going down to breakfast with them. I knew I hadn't been seeing them much – in fact not at all aside from a passing glance in the common room and dormitory – but this was going a little far.

_It's too early_.

Grumbling as we shuffled down the corridors, I made my way slowly, following closely behind them. We shuffled on into the Dining Hall, shuffled our way over to the Slytherin table, and shuffled onto the bench. Overall, a whole lot of shuffling.

Breakfast included slices of fried ham with side dishes of eggs and roasted potatoes. And, of course, toast, but that was always a dish at breakfast. The steamy smell was enticing and, as I heaped the various foods onto my plate, my stomach began to growl.

We didn't say much as we ate, which was typical unless something big was going on. They weren't generally very talkative people, and I didn't feel like having a conversation with myself again that morning. I certainly wasn't going to speak with Blaise.

The morning post came, and with it, a letter from my father.

_Crud._

Normally, I enjoyed getting letters from my father. Messages from my mother were okay, though she tended to go on about the strangest things. But my father's writing was usually the highlight of the day.

My father was the archetype of wizard-kind. I had always tried to live up to my father's expectations of me. He was such an awe-inspiring wizard. I wanted to be everything he was. Even if I became only half of the wizard he was…

But he wanted perfection. As much as I liked to pretend that I was perfect, I failed him often. Not that I let anyone else know that I had imperfections, but he always saw through what I did.

No matter how well I did, it was always: _you_ _could've done better_. I was never quite good enough. But I tried anyway. After all, he was my hero.

Which is why I didn't open the letter. I didn't want to face him at that time. I couldn't. I already felt guilty about hiding it all from him, and – as I didn't want to know if he had found out – I decided that ignorance would be bliss. He would never be undignified enough to send me a Howler, if he _had_ found out, so I didn't have to worry about others like Pansy discovering the truth – he really didn't approve of Granger.

Discreetly putting the letter away, I didn't say anything about it. The boorish people with whom I was eating seemed more unobservant than usual, continuing to stuff their faces without looking up.

_Why do I like these people, again?_

It was ridiculous, really, how abhorrently disgusting they appeared just then. Goyle had bits of egg stuck to his chin, and Crabbe was picking through the sausages with his _fingers_ to find one he wanted. Other people were going to eat those. I shuddered to think when the last time he had washed his hands had been.

I was utterly repulsed and wished for nothing more than an excuse – any excuse – to get me away from them at that particular moment.

And an excuse came, in the form of a note from Granger, delivered by one of the school owls.

_Just to be sure, one more day on the ice? Meet at the same time and all that._

_Hermione_

_Again?_ I had thought that we might be done with the outdoors for a while.

But apparently not.

_Eyes on the prize_.

So I muttered _I have to go_ to those two great lumps-that-pass-for-wizards, and left the castle as quickly as possible. Really, I didn't have to be at the pond for a while yet, but I needed out. Inside, people were just so much more irritating than usual.

Wandering about on the open plane of white, I looked up at the sky. From where I stood it looked like a great grey bowl placed over the world, too bright to really look at, but too big to avoid seeing.

I meandered for a while – shuffling around to keep warm. I strayed to just underneath the trees on the very edges of the forest, not really going in. Looking into its depths, I remembered what a terrifying place it was – vast, closed-in, and dark.

I wondered what it would be like, if I just went in and never came out.

Would it affect anything if I were gone?

_Maybe_.

It was just one of those strong but passing urges to do something that makes no sense. Something that wouldn't really bring _good_ per se. Just variation on an otherwise monotonous existence.

But it was just a passing fancy, nothing more.

Amidst all of my wanderings and musings, I lost track of where I was going, and soon found myself on the edge of the pond, underneath those trees again.

I didn't realize it until I rounded the bend, but I wasn't alone. Indeed, I wasn't separated from humanity by the stillness of nature.

There was Granger. Always interrupting my reveries, my peaceful moments. Granted, she _had_, in a way, given me this moment to me, but that didn't change the fact that she was spoiling my solitude.

She looked up at the sound of the snow crunching under my boots.

"Oh…you're early…" She trailed off blearily. _Oh, don't give me your depressing emotional baggage junk right now._

But apparently, this was a passing thought of her own, and she soon became…more aware. Not cheerful, but aware. I was glad it was just that - I don't think I could've endured a cheery mood, not from her.

I wondered if my limbs and backside would ever feel normal again, after all the beatings they had undergone over the past days. Falling on the ice and out of bed, along with sore muscles, had made walking around the castle quite the experience. My shins had decided they no longer wished to be attached to me, and were attempting to separate from the rest of each leg– quite a painful sensation.

We stood around in awkward silence for a few minutes. Minutes _are_ quite long, if one thinks about it. At least, when nothing's going on.

I decided that if we weren't going to practice just then, I certainly wasn't going to stand around there with her. I started to meander again.

But she followed.

Well, not really so much _followed_ as walked alongside me. I felt like I should be irritated, but after having to deal with Crabbe and Goyle's wretched manners and crudeness, her relative silence was refreshing.

"It's so beautiful out," she said at length.

A murmur of assent from me. Really, that was downplaying it incredibly, but the beauty of nature was beyond capturing within the vocabulary of small talk.

We paused by the lakeside as we reached the shores. Silence again took hold and we stood there numbly looking on, over the ice and the distant hills we both so admired.

She was the first to move on, and I followed, for some odd reason. Another one of those passing whims, I suppose.

She was passing under a few large pines when a large chunk of snow dislodged itself and fell smack on her head.

…

_That was hilarious!_

I started to laugh, but was sharply cut off by a rather large snowball hitting me on my left cheek and exploding over my face. Those things sting like crazy.

"What was that for!" I demanded, after I realized what had happened.

_She threw a snowball at me! How dare she!_

The only response was another snowball.

Being the victim of an unprovoked attack, I saw that the only course of action was to defend myself. Arming myself, I returned fire. _No time for any little charms, just make the snowball and throw._

Apparently – ridiculously - the two of us each had abominable aim without the aid of magic, as many of our missiles fell dismally short or simply askew of their intended targets. This, in and of itself, was funny, but coupled with the fact that we both looked ridiculous, standing knee-deep in the snow, chucking chunks of snow pell-mell, made each of us break down in fits of laughter before we managed to hit each other more than a handful of times.

I made my way to where she had toppled over backward after her latest attempt at a well-aimed throw. She really did look ridiculous, with her hair all messy and covered in snow. She got up and dusted herself off as thoroughly as possible.

I was suddenly tempted to help her brush the snow out of her long, brown hair. I almost reached out my hand to do so, but caught myself before I had gotten very far.

_What am I doing?_ I shook myself to break out of the odd feeling.

After she finished, we decided we had better go practice, so we made our way back to the little pond.

More awkward shuffling, dancing, and falling ensued, much to my muscles' great protestation. After a short time, we decided we were done with the ice. We really just came to a silent agreement that we were each too sore to continue in that fashion.

We shuffled back into that too-hot Castle entryway and climbed the stairs to the second floor.

On the way, I noticed how flushed her face was from being outside. …Was it from being outside, or had I just never noticed? The look became her.

Not that she was becoming…

…

No, of course not.

She was still _Granger_, after all.

I shook these thoughts from my mind and followed her down the corridors to the empty classroom we had previously used. The door didn't make a sound as she unlocked it and swung it open.

_Why does _she_ know how to unlock it, but when I tried last time, it didn't work?_

The classroom wasn't dusty, as I thought it might have been after a few days of not being used. The house elves must have been working hard, for there was not a speck of dust to be found.

The phonograph was already there.

_Just how _does_ she do that kind of thing?_

Something had been bothering me about the phonograph for a while, but I hadn't been able to quite identify what. At that moment, it finally occurred to me.

"How does that work, when the effects of Hogwarts usually make all muggle contraptions go haywire?" I asked, as she looked up from putting a vinyl record on the wheel.

"It doesn't really operate like the muggle phonographs. I replaced the working features with charms to play the records."

_Oh_.

"Why?" It seemed rather pointless, as it would have been simpler to use the music charm that McGonagall had introduced during dance classes.

"For the charm." It took me a moment to figure out that she didn't mean _charms_; she meant quaint, homey, charm. As in _charming_.

"Seems rather silly to me," I stated. _Stupid_ seemed a more apt description, really.

"It would," she replied.

_What's that supposed to mean?_

After another one of those awkward silences that seemed all too abundant that day, the music started playing and we stepped up to position. Or I did, and she stood there, unmoving.

"What?" I asked, still frustrated over her last comment.

"Your boots." She looked pointedly at my feet.

"You're kidding." Even after all of that practice on the ice. It was preposterous. I had improved, and yet she still didn't trust me not to bruise her poor, dainty toes.

"Just in case." She raised her hands in a placating gesture.

_I hate placating gestures._

Grumbling inwardly, I kicked off my large boots and _then_ we finally stepped into position.

It was amazing how much I had improved. It seemed more interesting, having the music, since we had been dancing without it for so long. Although, thinking about it then, I wondered why we hadn't just used the music charm from class.

_I'm so observant_. _Why didn't I notice this before?_

Another thing surprised me, as well. I kept getting distracted, but I didn't lose the beat. Little things, like the cold flagstone floor under my sock-covered feet, or the warmth of her hands in to mine.

The room started to feel too warm again, like we had just come in from outside. But clearly we hadn't. _Maybe I'm getting a fever_.

The dance went on with only one bout of toe-bashing – a new personal best. And though my foot didn't appreciate my mistake, it was still less painful than falling on the ice.

The dance became one of those things that separates one from the rest of the world – like flying or being alone outside in the quiet. No more problems performing the steps, no more anything. Just the dance. Like a hypnotist, the music played on and on, regardless of time. It controlled time, became time, and everything else was meaningless.

But after an indeterminable amount of time, it stopped and we took a break. I retreated to the window, standing on the edge of a large area rug. My feet were starting to go numb from the cool floor, so I tried to warm them up by shuffling them around on the carpet – but, along with the desired warmth, I was greeted with an electric shock as my hand came into contact with the metal window frame.

_Gah!_ Another annoyance or distraction. It happened again, though I wasn't shuffling my feet anymore.

And then a strange impulse presented itself to me. Another of those ridiculous, spontaneous, spur-of-the-moment ideas. And it was too good to pass up.

Careful not to touch anything metal, I shuffled my feet quickly on the rug. Granger stood by the dais, unsuspectingly. I shuffled closer…closer…

When I was within a few feet, I reached out. The shock hit both of us, but I had been prepared for it. With a triumphant _haHa!_ I rushed back to my rug as she gave me a startled, wide-eyed stare, followed closely by a small, somewhat confused smile.

A strange feeling in my stomach - like all of my insides twisting up in knots - took over, and I felt determinedly silly. My heart was pounding for no apparent reason.

It wasn't until I began to shuffle my feet again, preparing for my next strike, when she finally realized what was going on.

And then the war was on.

Throwing off her shoes, she made a dash for another area of carpet, but she was too late, I had already charged up enough electricity and made my way over, intercepting her as she was just reaching the edge.

_Another point for me!_

But then she retaliated, forcing me to retreat to the dais. I was cut off from my power source! Cornered like an animal, I fell back on another tactic. As she came up to deliver another blow, I feinted left and got around her, receiving only a minor shock as she made contact.

She turned, but now I had the upper hand, and I was going to make full use of it. No time to charge up electricity, I simply did the first thing I thought of.

It turned out, she was ticklish. _Very_.

Her frantic escape attempts were cut off as she vainly dashed to and fro. She ended up scrambling up onto the dais, attempting to fend me off, all the while laughing madly. I found I was, also. The bizarre twisting in my stomach increased. It created this soaring feeling. Or maybe falling.

All was insane chaos, ecstatically hilarious. A rushing madhouse of action that was fueled purely by impulse, not built on any real thought. Hard to remember.

Finally she managed to squeak out _I surrender!_ in between giggles, and I relented, victorious. She sat there, gasping for breath as she tried to regain control of herself. I leaned back on my heels and sat there, also heaving, out of breath.

I didn't notice that I was grinning ridiculously until she suddenly paused and said:

"You look different when you smile."

…

The previously-unnoticed, natural-feeling smile that had spread over my face shrank into nothingness. Gone in an instant. The feeling inside of my stomach made it feel like I was dropping from the sky. What was I _doing_?

I couldn't stay there. I had to get out. I had to get away – anywhere, just far, far away.

A pit – an emptiness - grew inside of me as I bolted for the door, stopping only to put on my boots.

Her alarmed questions fell on deaf ears as I rushed down the corridor and through the castle to the common room. Taking the steps to the dormitory two at a time, I grabbed my broom when I reached the top. _Forget the front hall_. I took the nearest window as my exit.

Soaring, rushing wind enveloped me as I tried to sweep it all away. But the hollow feeling didn't leave.

A/N: So, I didn't want to write on this for a while, but this was the eventual product. Review so I can gauge your reaction! If you don't I'll…I'll…I'll do _something_! Oh-ho! Now cower in fear and let your imagination run _wild_ with terrible thoughts of what that something will be!


	10. Chapter 10: Nostalgia

A/N: Olympic Bobsledding is very distracting. I just thought you might want to know. So is ice-skating. (This all tells you how long it's been since I began this chapter) And commercials. And homework. And sleep (it calls to me…). But what's really distracting is that I must go practice piano right now, so this is being put on hold. Not that it will change anything for you people, because…yah…

_I finally revived on the cold ground where I had fallen. I sat up and looked around. Nothing there. The winds had started up again and were beginning to tear at my clothes. They were more violent than before. I staggered to my feet and tried to shield my eyes from the onslaught as I peered into the abyss of darkness that consumed me._

_No light. Where did it go?_

_I tried to move in what I thought to be the direction of the light, but soon found the oppressive winds were blowing so hard that I was slipping and sliding backwards. It was impossible. I tried another direction – same thing._

After a moment, I lost all sense of direction and sat down to rest. It was exhausting, struggling against the wind fighting me at every turn. So I lay down and tried to pretend I was somewhere else – not alone in the dark, surrounded by nothing but a pitch black emptiness and frantic, angry torrents of wind.

I awoke to the sound of water running. Someone was using the lavatory. In the middle of the night.

_How considerate of him. What, he couldn't have held it until morning?_

An unreasonable request, I knew.

I sat up and realized I was sweating, but was freezing at the same time. Quite a gross feeling, really. I squinted, attempting to make out my surroundings through the dim, pre-dawn light. It looked like it was Blaise in the lavatory – his bed was empty.

I lay down again and rolled onto my side, burrowing deep under my covers to collect as much warmth as possible. The noise of Blaise opening the door and returning to his bed barely registered as I slipped into the bliss of sleep.

I went to breakfast with Crabbe and Goyle. Normal. That was normal. That was comfortable. But my stomach felt decidedly squashed and tight, so I couldn't eat. I sat there, staring at my food.

I considered returning to bed, but then decided on the infirmary instead and excused myself from the table. I felt very peculiar, and it made me nervous.

I passed no less than three groups of girls, including one from Beauxbatons, spouting stories of what their gowns were to look like and how _romantic_ the evening of The Ball would be. My stomach took the opportunity to flip over and complain loudly.

After what seemed an eternity, I reached the door to Madame Pompfrey's office. Knocking lightly, I was surprised when she walked up behind me.

"Can I help you, Mr. Malfoy?" she asked, eyebrows raised.

"I hope so, Madame Pompfrey," I said, in my most polite of tones.

"Well, what seems to be the trouble, then?"

"My stomach. It…it feels…odd." I felt the complete idiot. I couldn't even describe my own symptoms. At least, not in a dignified manner.

I was comically reminded of when I was a child and my mother came in one day to find me still in bed. She asked me what was wrong and I told her something was eating my insides. She gave a small laugh and stroked my face for a while until I fell asleep. Later she returned with some tonic that tasted like frogs and ink.

It felt like something was eating my stomach there in the infirmirary, too, but in a different way. However, that is _not_ how you describe a stomachache to the school nurse. One is supposed to be slightly more eloquent than that by one's fourth year as a student at Hogwarts.

"Well let's see if we can find out why," she said in her high, condescending voice. I felt like I was being babied, and the thought didn't aid my overall wellbeing.

She went and got a clipboard from her office and had me sit on the edge of one of the beds in the wing.

"Have you eaten anything…_funny_?" she asked.

_Really, if I had, don't you think I would have told you right away!_

"No."

"Eaten too much, maybe?" The next obvious question.

"No." _How stupid does she think I am? I would know if that was the trouble_.

"Any other symptoms? Anything out of the ordinary?"

I thought back over the events of the past few days. Definitely out of the ordinary, but surely they had nothing to do with my health. Except…

"I've been experiencing a fever over the past two or three days. It seems to come and go."

"Hmm," was the only response to this new information. "And you have no history of this sort of…feeling?"

"No." _Come on, lady. This is ridiculous_.

"Well hang on, then." She pulled out her wand and aimed it at my torso. "_Quaero aegrotatio_!"

A strange tingling sensation filled the pit of my stomach and spread through my insides, hovering for a moment. But when it dissipated, the odd, tight feeling returned.

"Well?" I asked, hopeful of an easy solution.

"Well…" She frowned and looked at her clipboard. What she expected to find there, I hadn't a clue.

I waited, trying to be patient.

"Nothing is actually wrong with you, as far as _I_ can tell. Are you sure there really _is_ something the matter?" She looked up with obvious doubt in her eyes.

"I suppose it's nothing, then," I replied stiffly.

_What does she _mean_ nothing's wrong?_

I stood and left immediately, trying to salvage my dignity. I could imagine what she was thinking – _Malfoy, one of those students who wastes my time by pretending to be ill_. Or worse, she could think me a hypochondriac.

Once I was around the corner, I stopped and leaned heavily against the solid stone wall. I could feel the rough texture through my robes. Reassuring steadiness. The castle walls were immovable and permanent. They, at least, were unalterable - constant. No lies or deceit to be found there. Nothing confusing about them.

I stood there for who-knows-how-long. When I finally got up, I went outside to take another walk. Traveling across the familiar white expanse, I again came to the edge of the forest.

_What _would_ happen if I went in? Would anyone mourn for me if I never came back?_

My mother. The typical over-bearing, over-protecting mother. _She_ would mourn my passing, grieving herself ill. Would my father? Probably. To the same extent as my mother? Unlikely.

My mother was the one always at home when I was young. She was the one who fed me, dressed me, cared for me when I was ill. She was the one who taught me to fly a broomstick. I had forgotten.

My father had often been off on business. He worked hard for us, always trying to give us a better life. Rich silks for my mother, expensive toys for me. He bought me the best broomstick after he found out I could ride. I was so happy.

That was the day he started to teach me things.

He said I was becoming "his little man" and that there were some principles I had to know to be a Malfoy. He sat me down and told me about the creatures known as Mudbloods and how they were to be detested. They were disgusting, inhuman abominations of wizardkind. I had at first expected some hideous beast with glistening fangs and slime oozing out of its skin, sharp claws and a poisonous, forked tongue.

So dreadful were the stories he told me of them and those who cared for them, I had nightmares.

Then he told me about Muggles, the lower-race, parents of the Mudbloods. Stupid creatures without any magic. I laughed at that one. No magic? Surely that was not possible. But he told me of how they blundered along, stripping the earth of resources, choking out the magical way of life in some areas. They were a waste of oxygen, a pestilence.

They were to be exterminated.

I asked why the wizards didn't just kill them all and get it over with then. He said there were some wizards who pitied the Muggles and wanted to protect them and their Mudblood children. He said that we had to be patient and wait for our Lord to return and lead us on the Great Crusade against the non-magic folk, to cleanse the world of their putrescence.

Then he taught me who our Lord was. Lord Voldemort, the Great One, Tamer of death, Powerful Controller of the weak-minded. He was to be feared, respected, and obeyed. I asked where he was, if he was our Lord, for I had never _seen_ him. Father said he was away, but that he would be back. Someday he would return, and _I_ had to be ready to follow him without question when he did.

I blindly took everything my father taught me as the absolute truth. No questions, nothing. Wondering if our Lord would come to visit us soon, I sometimes watched him sitting in his high-backed chair by the fire.

It wasn't until I was ten that I noticed how taut my mother's face became whenever my father spoke to me of Voldemort and of becoming a Death Eater. Her white knuckles betrayed the strain on her heart and mind. She was afraid for me, though she had often been involved in Death Eater activities in the past.

One day, when my father was away on a business trip, she took me up to the tower over the west wing of our manor and sat me on her lap, facing out the window, looking over the grounds. Her eyes looked tired, as she sat and stroked the top of my head, resting her chin on my shoulder.

She told me of when she met Father. He was young, handsome, and ambitious, eager for power. He swept her away with his gallantry, and she loved him. Really, she didn't have much control over whom she would marry, but she fell in love with him anyway. She was lucky.

When he first encountered Voldemort, he was faced with a choice: death or eternal servitude. His choice was obvious, what with a wife and a baby on the way.

He came home the day after with a hollow look in his eyes, claiming he was a dead man. He had been scared out of his wits. I didn't believe her – father, frightened? Preposterous. Impossible. Anyway, he started unlocking more of the darker secrets in the manor, using them to serve Voldemort's purposes. In the beginning, he was in constant fear, hoping only to be allowed to live in peace with his family.

But soon he became accustomed to the terrors of the Death Eaters, the horrors of the Dark Lord. He started to _enjoy_ his work, the thrill of danger. He became ambitious again and vied for the favor of Voldemort. This was shortly after I was born, she said. When the Dark Lord found out about me, he came to our house. He questioned my father and mother of their loyalty. They, of course, answered that they would ever be true to Him. The right answer.

And that is how I came to be promised to the Dark Lord. I wasn't even four months old, and they had already sold my life away.

My father thought it was magnificent. His son would follow in his footsteps. I was excited too, as I wanted to be everything my father was. But my mother fretted.

She told all this to me as we sat in the tower, watching a soft rain falling on the green field of the manor grounds. And that is why she frowned when my father spoke of the Death Eaters to me.

But instead of instilling caution in me, her speech only furthered my desire to be like my father. To me, he was a hero, serving the greatest wizard to ever walk the earth. It made sense to align ourselves with the winning side, didn't it? For the Dark Lord would surely triumph over the Mudbloods and Muggles that infested our world.

Loyalty – a small price to pay. It still was. I still waited for the day the Dark Lord would come back and my father would say that I was old enough – waited for the day I could become a Death Eater. I thought over it again as I stared into the darkness of the Forbidden Forest.

It seemed so far away, a distant future.

It was then that I realized I didn't yearn for it the way I had when I was young, anymore. It just seemed like the inevitable future. Something that _would_ happen eventually. Because eventually the Dark Lord _would_ come back. It wasn't something to be worried over, as my mother thought – it was simply the direction my life was going.

I was a Malfoy. I had the family name to uphold. And it wasn't as if I had much choice anyway. I was already promised to the Dark Lord.

I did worry about my mother, though. It was hard enough on her to have a husband in the Death Eaters, always in danger of being caught by the ministry. If the Dark Lord ever _did_ come back, I'd be enlisted, and then she'd be left with only the house elves to keep her spirits up during our absences. She was a tough woman, but she worried too much.

She feared for us mainly because her sister, Bellatrix, had already been sent to Azkaban for participating as a Death Eater. I wondered if my aunt was even alive. Mother must've asked herself that every night my father was out on "business." Was he still alive? Would he come back safely? Or would she be greeted at the door by the ministry, coming to take her and her new baby away?

Really, though, after Voldemort's downfall, she had less cause to worry. My father could talk his way out of anything, and if he couldn't, he could _buy_ his way out. The Malfoy fortune came in handy that way.

When my father died, I would own the manor, the fortune, and the family name. I had to learn to live up to all three. I also had to marry a worthy wife to continue on said family manor, fortune, and name. She, of course, was pre-selected from among the true pureblood families. However, this meant that I had to marry my younger second cousin once-removed.

She was six years younger than me – an eternity at the age of fourteen. She was a spoiled and simpering child who only irritated me. I didn't even tolerate her presence, as the one time we had a play-date, I used a charm to tie her hair in knots until she cried, and then I punched her in the nose.

I remembered the event with much disgust as I continued to stare into the depths of the trees. I was eventually broken out of my musings by the crunch of someone passing by in the snow.

I turned, half-expecting it to be Granger, unsure of what I'd do if it were.

It wasn't.

The Ravenclaw boy gave me a startled glance and hurried on by. Probably thought I was mad, standing, staring into the trees, then turning sharply to glare at him.

When it registered that it wasn't Granger, relief flooded through me. Well, sort of. Actually, not at all. It should have, shouldn't it? But instead, a sick feeling settled in my already peculiar-acting stomach. It made me want to kick something.

Disturbed by the odd sensation taking hold of me, I shuffled back through the snow to the castle, barely pausing to stomp the snow off of my boots and robes.

I was in a _foul_ mood.

I quickly located Crabbe and Goyle, sitting in the common room, stuffing their faces with Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans and daring each other to eat one that looked a rather frightening shade of greenish-brown. I collapsed into an armchair and they grunted a welcome.

They put down the sweets and sat there, looking at me.

_Waiting? For what?_

I realized that they were waiting for me to tell them what to do. I had never considered what they did when they were by themselves. I finally discovered the truth – all they did was eat. Really, that was it.

I decided that if the Dark Lord never came back, they could go into the candy business, since they knew so much about it. Really, they were intelligent in that respect. They loved to eat and had learned as much as humanly possible about sweets.

I didn't have the energy to give them any orders that night, so I just leaned into the comfort of the chair and closed my eyes. I could imagine their confused faces as they considered what their choices were. After a few moments, I heard a hesitant crinkle of a wrapper, followed by an attempt to muffle said wrapper, which only succeeded in causing a louder ruckus than necessary.

I opened my eyes and they looked fearful of retribution for the disturbance of my peace. I picked up a chocolate frog box and began to open it. They glanced at each other, hopeful. After examining the card – and finding it worthless – I bit into the frog.

_Delicious, as always_.

Once we were past the awkward pause, they slowly began to eat again. After a few more minutes, they resumed their discussion of the different chocolates and candies. I realized I had missed lunch in addition to breakfast, and was very hungry. My stomach was starting to relax, now that I was back in a familiar setting, among familiar people, distracted. I knew Crabbe and Goyle. I knew how they worked, how they thought, how they acted.

Totally predictable and safe.

They were arguing over what flavor the greenish-brown bean was. Crabbe claimed it was rotten cabbage, but Goyle insisted it was too dark to be, adding that he was sure it was pond scum. Both were afraid to attempt a taste.

I listened in amusement for a while. They finally decided to try to cut it in half and each try a piece, but once the cutting was accomplished – no simple task – they argued over which had the larger piece.

Finally, I just grabbed both pieces from their hands and popped them in my mouth.

_What am I doing? Why did I just put that _thing_ into my mouth?_

To my great relief, it tasted of neither rotten cabbage nor pond scum. It did, however, taste vaguely of rather dirty grass. As I choked it down and revealed my findings, we all had a good laugh. It felt good, being among friends again. I now remembered why I liked them so much.

After three pumpkin pasties, a licorice wand, half a bag of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, and a couple of candies called Chocolate Sparklers that fizz up in water, turning it into a chocolate drink, my stomach was satisfied. We went to dinner anyway.

I decided a small helping of meat, cheese, and bread would help counteract all of the pounds of sugar I had ingested over the previous two hours.

The roast beef was savory.

I purposely sat with my back to the other tables, facing only the other side of the Slytherin table and the wall. I had hoped, in this way, to avoid any contact with Granger, but I was not so lucky.

Halfway through the meal, the peas on my plate began to arrange themselves and spell out words. It startled me, but I quickly recovered and tried to stab as many as possible. It didn't work. They still managed to form the words _Are you okay?_ And _practice tonigh_. I had managed to skewer enough by the last word to keep it from fully making the last _t_.

I pretended that I hadn't noticed my vegetables trying to send me messages. Thankfully, neither Crabbe nor Goyle registered the fact that I was suddenly very ravenous for peas, shoving forkfuls into my mouth all at once. I hurried them along through the rest of the meal, fearing that my meat might begin to tap-dance on my plate along with my fork and knife. I encouraged Crabbe and Goyle to take the rest of their food with them to the common room.

They followed orders, of course.

We set off for the common room – I in the hopes of avoiding eye contact with any Gryffindor. We marched quickly down the corridors, reaching the Slytherin chambers in a few minutes. As my companions continued to eat, I thought about working on the homework assigned over the holiday.

Decided against it.

We sat there, genially talking over whatever came to mind - generally food. I voiced my earlier conclusion that they should enter the food industry, and they gave me an odd look. It was like they had never even considered it.

That disconcerted me, so I went to bed. I lay, warm under the covers, thinking about it. Of course they didn't expect to _be_ anything other than Death Eaters. They knew they were promised to the Dark Lord as well. They knew they would be His servants when He came back, and they were fine with that.

Was I?

A/N: So…not much to say. I suddenly was bitten by a cow of a plot bunny for another fic, but I shall continue to write on this one as well. Madame Pompfrey's spell is Latin. Current music: Switchfoot, Nothing is Sound.


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